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Then, as nothing stirred, I went off with rapid strides." "What time was it?" asked M. Magloire. "I could not tell you precisely. My state of mind was such, that I had lost all idea of time. I went back through the forest of Rochepommier." "And you saw nothing?" "No." "Heard nothing?" "Nothing." "Still, from your statement, you could not have been far from Valpinson when the fire broke out."
Without a shadow of hesitation, and as if nothing had taken place, the marchioness gave her husband the whole of Jacques's statement as he had made it to M. Magloire. The marquis seemed to be amazed. "That is unheard of!" he said. And, when his wife had finished, he added,
Yes, indeed, M. Magloire was an honorable man, and quite accessible to tender sentiments; for he felt very reluctant to go and see the prisoner, charged as he was with an odious crime, and, as he thought, justly charged, a man who had been his friend, and whom, in spite of all, he could not help loving still.
But Count Hannibal paid no heed to them, and had already turned on his heel when Father Pezelay spurred his mule a pace or two forward. Snatching a heavy brass cross from one of the acolytes, he raised it aloft, and in the voice which had often thrilled the heated congregation of St. Magloire, he called on Tavannes to pause. "Stand, my lord!" he cried. "And take warning!
And yet he looked in vain to the advocate for a word or a sign of encouragement. M. Magloire remained impenetrable: his face remained as impassive as an iron mask. At last, with a great effort, Jacques resumed, "Yes, this calm frightened me more than a storm would have done. To win Dionysia's love was too great happiness. I expected a catastrophe, something terrible.
"And we had a great trouble, M. Magloire, and myself," added M. Folgat, "to overcome his resolution, great trouble to make him understand, that never, under any circumstances, ought an innocent man to think of committing suicide." A big tear rolled down the furrowed cheek of the old gentleman; and he murmured, "Ah! I have been cruelly unjust. Poor, unhappy child!" Then he added aloud,
"Have you forgotten the letter you wrote to Miss Dionysia the evening of the crime?" broke in M. Magloire. Jacques looked first at one, and then at the other of his counsel. "What," he said, "that letter?" "Overwhelms us, my dear client," said M. Folgat. "Don't you remember it?
Here M. de Chandore found them all assembled, the marchioness, pale and overcome, extended in an easy-chair; but Dionysia, walking up and down with burning cheeks and blazing eyes. As soon as he entered, she asked him in a sharp, sad voice, "Well? There is no hope, I suppose." "More hope than ever, on the contrary," he replied, trying to smile. "Then why did M. De Magloire send us all out?"
He said, "That takes nothing from the poor." It must be confessed, however, that he still retained from his former possessions six silver knives and forks and a soup-ladle, which Madame Magloire contemplated every day with delight, as they glistened splendidly upon the coarse linen cloth.
"I am almost sure you are mistaken," said M. Magloire. "I know the good man, having practiced with him for many years. If he were sure of himself, he would be pitiless. If he is kind, he is afraid. This concession is a door which he keeps open, in case of defeat." The eminent counsel was right.
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